


Conducting Business

by Avaya



Series: Wild [2]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU, Justice League & Justice League Unlimited (Cartoons), Superman - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Established Relationship, Exhibitionism, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-12
Updated: 2017-04-12
Packaged: 2018-10-18 00:23:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10605429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Avaya/pseuds/Avaya
Summary: Bruce Wayne has a couple of things to take care of...one of them being Clark Kent.





	

The Tumbler requires an oil change and a few upgrades. He nearly totaled it due to last night’s mixture starring a decrepit abandoned part of Gotham. The concoction was filled with missile launchers, unstable foundations, and hidden bombs. At least Joker saved him the trouble of wrecking the area before redevelopment.

He also needed to look over the reports regarding Wayne Tech’s Weapons Division. Someone apparently thought they were clever enough to falsify documents so that they could swipe a few energy prototypes. More than likely paid by the cocky individual that smarmily condescended him through the office phone.

Not to mention that he _should_ be listening to Lex Luthor’s ignoble tirade. The rapidly darkening Gotham skyline afforded such a beautiful view with its pink and red sun-setting hues, offset only by the _Lex Corps_ eye-sore of a structure. Metropolis was Luthor’s city and now he was beginning to encroach onto Gotham. So any interaction with the unhinged tyrannical pest deserved undivided attention.

Except…who in their right mind could concentrate at a time like _this_?

There was a reason why his executive chair faced the view, why he drifted in and out of the yawn-inducing _business_ _discussion_ , and why he wasn’t performing any necessary tasks. And he could find none better.

Because electric blue eyes were on him as a naked muscular beauty rolled along his cock at a leisurely pace. The cheap plastic frames hiding them were necessary but it aided Bruce’s kink. He loved the scholarly wizened look.

His own cock was in hand, jerking in time with their movements, while the other rested near his head, squeezing whenever Bruce hit him in that particularly _sweet_ spot. A beautiful mouth slackened enough so that Bruce Wayne heard the small hitches of breath, the stifling of a moan or a gasp or a _please fuck me faster_.

Those enticing sounds caused him to dig his fingers into those tight hips, lie his head against the headrest with lids slammed shut, grit his teeth while he steadied them both lest he explode inside that ever-clenching hole.

They’ve only been at this for _five_ minutes.

“Trouble concentrating, Mr. Wayne?”

He glowered through narrow slits at the smug face hovering above him. He’d focused so intently on the suffocating heat threatening to drain him of every ounce of cum that he’d missed the timbre attached to the spoken words.

Who spoke? The one percent or the ninety-nine?

Luthor or Kent?

Madman or _Super_ man?

Bruce wet his tongue, licked his lips, swallowed a few times to rid himself of the lump in his throat as he made a decision. He needn’t have bothered.

“We both know of your infamous short attention span, spanning from your dalliance of the hour to your swift departure when you appear at a gathering. I would think the possibility of _increasing_ your bank account would have held you.”

A flare of annoyance nearly coursed through him. A sharp quip rested at the tip of his tongue as his lips parted when his lover ever so gently brushed his lips against his neck.

And bit.

Then licked tenderly.

Finally he suckled on the bruise he made.

Bruce’s mouth slammed shut to quiet a groan, shivering as Clark Kent’s finger rested briefly on the first button of his dress shirt before effortlessly dragging it south. It teased his sweaty flesh as it trailed down, popping every button along the way.

“You don’t need a science division, Mr. Wayne.” A snarky laugh filled the room. “It’s…not your forte. My offer is very generous. _More_ than generous. Consider it as more money to spend on…whatever it is you do. Buying islands, mountains, planes, women. Or _men_.”

Bruce nearly laughed. The latter had been added seconds after. It’s plausible that Luthor perused the _Gotham Gazette_ at his leisure so he might have been enlightened to the rumors swirling of Bruce Wayne’s homosexual relationship.

But his high society chuckle held slight derision and not a little bit of jealously, Luthor’s crude attempt to cover up his true feelings failing horribly. It reinforced what he had believed before Clark murmured it in his ear.

“He’s watching us.”

Through high-powered German binoculars, no doubt. The naughtiness dripping underneath that mirthful tone hadn’t been missed either.

Clark wanted to give him a show: an exquisite taste of what he’d never get. Seeing as Lex Luthor wouldn’t ever visit _Voyeur_ , it is only right that they bring the show to him. And who is Bruce to not acquiesce to whatever his lover wanted?

A slight nod let Clark know that Bruce wholeheartedly agreed with his deviousness…and his smirk told that he loved it.

“Come now, Mr. Wayne.” Luthor is agitated now. Is it due to Bruce’s unwillingness to play his way or the fact that he’s near the brink to bursting in his own trousers? “I don’t have all day and I’m not about to _beg_. I have an intrepid journalist coming to interview me soon and I should be preparing for yet another unfair character assassination.”

Oh, this was going to be _good_. He knew who the journalist happened to be and Bruce was currently pulling his cock out of his ass. Apparently Luthor hadn’t read this morning’s issue of the _Gotham Gazette_. He’d know soon what current news swept through Gotham. He’d even have an inside scoop of who the lover is that no one seemed to know.

“Sounds like you should get to it then.”

Clark understood as well. He chuckled beneath his breath as he did a round-about, a small devious one that made Bruce’s body tense and his cock throb for that well-lubricated hole again. He relayed the subtle message by lightly running his fingertips along the tanned body before reaching around to palm his lover’s turgid cock.

He heard a sharp inhale as Clark came into view for Luthor. Bruce didn’t hide his smile as he sat back, elbow on the armrest, clasping his chin. Clark reached below for his cock, legs spread as he guided it between his cheeks.

Bruce let his eyes flutter close as he concentrated on his head kissing that pink ring, fighting against the tension with the intent to breach, before that sweet pucker spread to suckle and squeeze. They both breathed out near quiet moans as Clark guided himself slowly onto Bruce’s cock, bracing himself on his lover beneath him.

That should get Luthor’s attention.

Nothing could impede on Bruce by the time Clark had his ass and back flush against him, grabbing hold of the chair behind him and the back of his neck. He swallowed hard, imprinting the sight before him so he’d never forget it: the gentle blush that colored perfect skin, uncircumcised cock leaking heavily onto a well-toned stomach, heavy breaths puffing from soft lips that told that he is reaching the point of no return, hooded sky-blues spewing desire and an unfathomable amount of amorous affection.

He captured those full lips, sucking the tongue into his mouth. Releasing Clark’s cock, he brought his arms beneath his legs, spreading them so they dangled over the arm rests and gave Luthor a view of what he would never have.

Oh yes. He knew that Clark and Luthor shared a sultry past, Luthor being his first enamored boyhood lover. He also knew that Luthor never truly got over the breakup, simply burying it and projecting his anger onto the undeserving like Superman.

He doubted that Luthor would appreciate the irony if he knew that the man he loved the most was also the one he hated.

A quick thrust upward caused Clark to lustily cry his name into his mouth. He pushed himself along his length as much as he could to try and meet his rhythmic jabs. His cock ping-ponged between the seat and his stomach, leaving smears of precum along the way.

Clark pressed down against his neck, their mouths smashed together, determined to swallow their tongues. The small mewls that escaped into him or the heavy pants he heard made him slow his pace to an agonizing crawl.

Perhaps it wasn’t wise. Clark immediately clamped around him, threatening to squeeze him dry. Then he protested audibly, breaking the severe tongue lashing to reveal their lips were connected by a trail of saliva.

“ _Bruce._ ”

His tone is a plea, lidded azures drenched with a mixture of adoration and desperation, head resting on his shoulder. As if more of a point needed to be made, he brought his hand down to jerk on his swollen member. 

Bruce gritted his teeth at the sight, glaring down affectionately at Clark who merely licked at his lips. How could he convey to this Incubus that he _could not_ completely lose himself, no matter how his tight ass suffocated his cock? Or his kiss swollen lips asked to be bitten? Or that beautiful cock jerking _begged_ for him to take it into his mouth until Clark writhed beneath him, bursting his deliciously warm cum down his throat?

That thought reminded him of who intently listened to their coital noises…and who was probably recording for future blackmail or other unsavory actions. Or the eery silence on the other end could simply be unbridled anger close to unleashing.

“As you can _see_ , Lex,” He struggled to keep his breathing under control, avoiding Clark’s attempts to seize his mouth which led him to _impatiently_ moan. “I’m busy. Another day perhaps?” Without waiting for a response, he slammed his hand down on the button effectively cutting off communication.

Usually, he relished the flare of joy that bloomed whenever he did such things to those who are unjust. But now, something else replaced it.

“ _Clark_.” Bruce growled out as the tone clicked, crashing their lips together and beginning to push inside him in a frenzy. He bit his lower lip hard enough to make a normal man bleed. But Clark isn’t normal—never was and never will be.

 _Damn_ this man for upsetting the balance of his life, brightening his depressing and lackluster life with bouts of his presence. _Nothing else_ mattered when Clark appeared and that, in itself, is troublesome. But Bruce couldn’t drudge up any amount of emotion to care while with him.

The kiss only ended due to a need to breathe and both panted in the other’s face, eyes never leaving as their foreheads touched.

Not when Bruce ran his hands along heated skin, to fondle large sacs or pinch a nipple.

Not even when they whispered words that cemented that their relationship transcended the exploitation of the media.

And certainly not when, as the previous occurred, a call that Bruce expected came through, forwarded by his secretary.

“Bruce Wayne.”

Bruce didn’t stop moving though, his cock pulsing with need while buried completely inside of Clark. Recognition lit in Clark’s eyes and the absolute _naughtiness_ of what they were doing charged them both.

“To what do I owe the pleasure, Mr. Queen?” He kept his voice deceptively even while Clark bit his bottom lip to stifle a moan. “I do hope you enjoyed your visit to _Voyeur_.”

Oliver Queen was nothing if not obvious. Bruce caught sight of his Maserati as Clark and he left for Wayne Manor the night before. As he’d promised himself, Clark called in sick for work while Bruce steadily pummeled him from behind. During the conversation in which—besides Clark burying his face into a pillow to muffle soft moans—Bruce caught wind that someone sober enough gave a somewhat accurate description of his lover. He just wondered how much Oliver knew…or possibly saw.

Stark cold fear or worry was what prompted Oliver to call though he disguised it as he snorted loudly through the phone. “Figures that you had me pegged. But considering that stalking is what you do, I shouldn’t be surprised.”

“That’s a _highly_ flattering view of yourself, Mr. Queen, if you think that _you_ would peak my particular interest enough for me to find out more about you. Flattering…and delusional.”

“I suppose _my_ best friend garnered it though.”

Bruce surveyed Clark’s face to ensure that he isn’t tiring of the conversation though Bruce did of the juvenile pissing contest Oliver would always try to enact. The less-than-subtle jab of Oliver’s ownership was nothing more than a five year old screaming that he was friends with him first.

The mischievous gleam in Clark’s eye that he came to love told him in no uncertain terms _not in the slightest_. Oliver’s best friend currently rode him feverishly, bracing his hands on the seat between them as he leaned over, slamming his ass against his hips in time with Bruce’s thrusts. It afforded the billionaire a very tantalizing view which Clark knew, throwing a lewd look over his shoulder.

“I am not going to ask for specifics, Mr. Queen.” Bruce smoothly slid into his persona though his voice became slightly taut. Both hands flew to those luscious hips, clutching them so he could pummel himself into that delicious heat more forcefully. “If you have a _particular_ issue with an employee of my establishment, I suggest you take it up with said individual. I must state that this should be _after hours_ of course.”

Anger laced Oliver’s voice now. “I _highly_ doubt that _this_ person would be suckered into _your_ employ, Mr. Wayne.”

It was then that Clark chose to roll along his cock. Bruce slowed his thrusts to Clark’s chagrin. Protesting quiet whimpers drifted into his ear though not loud enough to be picked up over the phone.

“Then you bother me over the concern of someone _enjoying_ their choice of venue, which is hardly a concern due to it being—I reiterate— _their_ choice. I refer you back to my previous suggestion.”

“I don’t _fucking think_ that Clark bending his ass over to let you fuck him in a room full of people is _nothing_ to be concerned about!  _Or_ his choice!”

That stilled both of them, mouths agape as confusion flooded their countenance. Was Oliver insinuating—

“And don’t say it _wasn’t_ Clark, because I know who the fuck I saw!”

Bruce narrowed his eyes, briefly wondering if Oliver had informed the press yet hadn’t revealed Clark. Deep-seated anger crept out.

“Really? I think you should verify your information before you run rampant with lucid alcohol induced theories.”

“You’re _really pulling this shit on me_?” Oliver’s voice rose nearly to a shrill. “I called Clark after and received no answer! I visited his fucking empty apartment! Not to mention that I was in that Ford Focus you two passed when you left! Believe me, I was in complete disbelief! Still sort of am.”

It was short-work for Bruce to recall an image of said car rocking due to passionate sex. It amused him at the time, invigorating him so that he pawed at Clark’s cock more desperately in the chilly night. Now it reminded him that he hadn’t been _focused_ enough to keep Clark hidden. All he’d wanted was to sheath his cock—that had been consistently brutalized by the cold nips of wind—into Clark’s warm hole and nestle in for the night.

“You think I manipulated him.” He coolly replied in a low dangerous tone.

“Why else would Clark do something so completely out of character?” Oliver bit out in a disgusted tone. “Why else would a man who _blushes_ at the mention of any sexual act, who doesn’t even _talk_ about those topics, cum on a bunch of people in full view?”

Bruce licked his lips, trying to clamp down on his rage. He leaned forward in time to catch the _hurt_ in Clark’s eyes before he carefully constructed a look of nonchalance.

This wouldn’t do. Clark couldn’t go about thinking that there is something seriously wrong with _him_ for enjoying unorthodox consenting sexual acts…no matter what others thought. It harmed no one and was no one’s business but his own. So for others to impede with their biased thoughts—no matter if they meant it in a gesture of goodwill—was _wrong_ as well as hypocritical. Most assuredly, they wouldn’t enjoy their life being judged harshly by others.

His nostrils flared as fury pounded in his head, flushing his skin to tint it a deeper pink than before. Silently, he counted to ten to rid himself of the flurry of scathing retorts that teased at his tongue. He settled on the truth as he so often did with a bit of classic misdirection.

“Just when I didn’t think you could be more incompetent…or arrogant.”

“Calling the kettle.” He spat viciously. “ _Literally_.”

“And a severe case of projection.” His frigid tone revealed his rage. “Have you stopped to _think—_ and I mean quite literally process information within that large empty vessel that you call a cranium, not spilling out your genetic fluid into every unfortunate soul that crosses your path—that perhaps you _don’t_ know Clark as well as you do?”

He continued before Oliver had a chance to recover from the accusation.

“ _How_ exactly would I manipulate the strongest man on Earth? By threatening his career at the _Planet_? Exposing him to Vicki Vance or Luthor? Kryptonite? Why would I do such things just to _fuck_ him when I could ask for something more? And when he has information on _me_?”

Clark winced and he relayed a simple message by massaging his inner thigh. Clark wasn’t, isn’t, and would never be a simple degrading _fuck_. He placed his lips on the apex of his spine, circling an arm around his waist as Clark leaned into him.

“Not to mention, _Oliver_.” He stated his name with great distaste. “That _you_ should not be callously throwing around any moral superiority. Or making judgmental claims without gathering all factual information and speaking to all parties involved.”

“You are _the_ last person I would ever speak to about this.” Animosity reared its ugly head. “But as I stated, if you _listened_ , I couldn’t get hold of Clark. I wanted to deal with this _before_ the League meeting tonight. If I could find him, if he’d answer his damn phone, I’d hang up on you.”

He added. “I don’t care what happens to you, Bruce. You can go to hell. But Clark is a good man and he doesn’t deserve to be dragged into your mess or become another one of your victims.”

It was always a struggle to maintain his façade with Oliver due to how much the man irked him. It vanished then as the scathing accusation came forth, the Dark Protector emerging, nearly seeing red.

“Another one of my victims?” He repeated, voice deadened yet simultaneously threatening. There were many insinuations with this statement.

“How many people have gotten involved with you only to be hurt?” Oliver clarified as if it was necessary. “He’s not first for you and never will be. Gotham is. And what’s _fucked up_ is that he knows this and _still_ chooses you.”

Silence reigned for an inordinate amount of time. Bruce clenched his teeth, forcing himself to respire slowly.  A long look at Clark led him to close his eyes. It didn’t shut off the image though. He still visualized the turbulent emotions that roiled within those usually bright azures, the quivering sad smile, the soft pained gasps that replaced simple breathing—all aimed at _him_.

But worst of it all is the _understanding_. Oliver was right—Clark knew that he’d never be Bruce’s main agenda, only a well-enjoyable side piece…and he accepted it.

Resting his forehead on the broad expanse of back, arms tightening around Clark’s midsection, Bruce wrestled with himself. Though he _loathed_ Oliver for announcing it, his mission _was_ his life. Clark impeded with it even when not meaning to.

It’s not as if they weren’t professional in uniform and didn’t help each other out when necessary. He treated him as an equal by not hampering him with the fact that he wasn’t empowered as the rest and he never impeded with what he did for Gotham…only on request.

But the requests have been more frequent. Batman appeared less, seemingly replaced with his protégés. League meetings were conducted without the two of them making an appearance. Bruce Wayne’s more than usual absence from his own soirees were noticed. Lies of omission were told to placate any who asked questions.

This isn’t how it should be. They _should_ stop this since Bruce is unable to reign in his overwhelming attraction to this amazing man. Yet…

Bruce peered up at Clark once more, instantly wishing he didn’t due to guilt washing over him. His eyes dropped from him, but not before he caught that they glistened slightly. His shaky sighs sounded as if pain wracked him. When the struggling glorious smile that he lived to see daily fell away, he made an impromptu decision he knew he would never regret.

“Clark.”

He whispered impassioned, too low to be heard by Oliver but enough so that his lover could catch. His countenance didn’t change though he tensed slightly. Clearly he didn’t wish for Bruce to acquiesce to Oliver, but expected it.

Bruce called to him again, more fervently with the barest trembling. Only then did Clark lift his sea blues, uncertainty lacing them. Bruce only sounded that way when he was becoming…emotional. He ensured that their gazes locked as he spoke binding words that would change the course of his life forever.

“You’re wrong as usual, Oliver.” His own sapphires never left his lover as he spoke, gaining confidence with each word slipping past his lips. “I don’t feel that way nor would I ever treat him as such.”

Clark’s eyes widened, mouth slackening a bit as he continued. “Perhaps you didn’t look closely enough, but I wouldn’t ever let him go to be taken by anyone else. They’re welcome to try but I’m not to be held responsible for the consequences.

“And if he’ll have me,” Bruce noted, matching Clark’s slow growing smile. “it will always hold true.”

Before Oliver could bitch, Bruce whispered. “What do you think about that, Clark?”

“Clark?” Oliver questioned, confusion masking his tone before a sharp inhale revealed that he knew what is going on. But neither paid attention to him.

Clark rested his back against Bruce’s chest, curling an arm around his head. The act is necessary so he can capture his mouth in a passionate kiss, tasting the sparkling bubbly on his tongue while moaning deeply.

“Just love me harder, Bruce.”


End file.
